


Chasing Alaric

by Ellen Smithee (ellensmithee)



Series: Not an Addict [3]
Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Bloodplay, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-02
Updated: 2011-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellensmithee/pseuds/Ellen%20Smithee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alaric thinks they're hunting for a chupacabra, but Damon has a completely different prey in mind. Smut ensues. Sequel to "Blow by Blow" and "Got a New Drug." Part 3/3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing Alaric

"Granted, this is a cool car," Alaric said, examining the interiors of Damon's Camaro with a frown as Damon drove. "But I still think the SUV's more practical for hunting. There's hardly any room for all our weapons in here. And what if one of us bleeds out? It would be bad for all this 'fine Corinthian leather'."

"That was the Chrysler Cordoba," said Damon absently, making a left turn off the main road. "Get your old timey commercials straight."

"I'll take your word for it as an old guy," Alaric said, fishing a stake out of his jacket and testing the point before taking out his pocket knife. "What are we huntin' now, anyways? You never said."

"Oh, a thing," said Damon. "A, uh, chupacabra-type of thing."

Alaric turned and gave Damon a dumbfounded look.

"A chupacabra," he said. "Damon, there's no such thing as chupacabras."

It was then that he noticed how uncharacteristically nervous Damon seemed.

 _He's finally gone completely off his rocker._

"Well, there _won't_ be," said Damon, shrugging. "Once we kill the thing. Hand me a blood bag?"

Alaric let out an exaggerated sigh.

"We've only been driving for 20 minutes," he said. "Can't it wait till we get there?"

Despite his grousing, he opened the glove compartment and took out a bag, snipping off the end of the tube with his pocket knife before handing it to Damon.

"Thanks," said Damon, and he started drinking the blood. "Mmm, tasty. Wanna sip?"

Alaric grimaced and made a face.

"Ew, no," he said. "It only tastes good coming out of you."

"You've got that right," said Damon, looking way too satisfied with himself, but out of the corner of his eye, Alaric also caught sight of the vampire's shoulders relaxing just slightly, as if he'd suddenly become a little more comfortable after hearing Alaric's admission.

Alaric had an ominous feeling about this trip.

~o~O~o~

A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of a rustic-looking house on a lake. As Damon got their bags out of the trunk, Alaric looked around with interest.

"This the Gilberts' lake house?" he asked. "Jenna talked about this place a few times, but she never mentioned chupacabra sightings."

"There's a first time for everything," Damon said quickly. "So, you up for scoping out the perimeter while I set us up inside?"

"Sure," Alaric said.

He joined Damon at the trunk and unzipped his duffel-bag, hesitating for a moment before grabbing his shotgun and a few shells--just in case--and a long hunting knife, which he stuck in his belt. As Damon headed towards the house with their luggage, he slammed the trunk shut and followed the path into the woods.

The afternoon sun was just starting to drop behind the mountains, but he had enough light. The woods were quiet and peaceful, birds were chirping, and a soft wind was blowing, bringing with it the scent of flowers, moss... and death.

Filling his shotgun with shells, he crept forward, following the smell of rot with trepidation. After just a few paces, he spied a dead animal on the trail before him. He looked around, gazing into the deepening dusk and then closed the distance to the cadaver. Covering his nose and mouth with his sleeve, he crouched down to examine the tableau. The animal--a muskrat--had been torn apart, and tracks led away from the scene.

 _Uh huh_. Just as he'd thought. Coyote tracks. No chupacabra, at least not here.

Shaking his head with a snort, Alaric shouldered his shot gun and headed back to the house.

~o~O~o~

When he got back, Alaric went inside, the 'chupacabras are nothing but coyotes with mange' speech on the tip of his tongue, and stopped short in the doorway. A delicious smell filled the entire house and, as Alaric advanced into the room, he could see the table decked out with a table cloth, fine china, and wine glasses. The lights were dimmed, and the room was filled with candles. Damon looked up from the stove as Alaric approached and stopped at the table.

"Are you planning to romance the chupacabra to death?" Alaric asked with a grin as he picked up an embroidered napkin and examined it.

He glanced up just in time to catch an odd look in Damon's eyes before his usual supercilious mask slid over his face.

 _Oh. Fuck._ This was for _him_.

Suddenly filled with panic, Alaric started edging towards the stairs.

"I, uh, I have to go... wash my hands," he said. "I'll be right back."

Without waiting for Damon to respond, he turned and bounded up the steps, not stopping until he was in the bathroom. He locked the door behind himself and turned to the mirror, staring at his reflection in shock.

No. Absolutely not. This wasn't happening. He was imagining things. Even if he _wanted_ Damon to--no. He wasn't going to go there. First chupacabras and now candlelit dinners? Damon was just fucking with him. He had to be. There was no other explanation. Unless... Fuck.

Damon was romancing him.

Now _that_ was impossible. Shaking his head in disbelief, Alaric washed his face and hands and then headed back down the stairs. Damon had just finished putting food on the table, and was pouring the wine.

"Find anything?" he asked.

"A dead muskrat and coyote tracks," Alaric said, reaching out to take the wine. "No chupacabra."

He examined Damon as he raised the glass to his lips, but the other man had rarely looked as 'normal' as he did at that moment.

"That's just because they're tricky,' Damon said, reaching for the stereo remote and turning it on. "You've got to think like a chupacabra. Not so difficult for a vampire."

"Uh huh." Alaric's voice was laden with skepticism. He started to relax as the familiar strains of Thelonius Monk filled the room.

"Wow," he said, surveying the table. "You really knocked yourself out. I had no idea you could cook."

"I've spent the last 150 years sharpening a few skills other than being a general dick," Damon said, winking. "Though I tend to stick with what I'm good at."

Damon returned to the stove. Alaric offered his help, but Damon demurred, so he pulled out a chair to sit down, stopping when he heard something scuffing across the floor. He glanced down and saw a piece of paper stuck under the leg of his chair and bent down to pick it up. He started to look for a trash can, but then his eye caught the word 'cannelloni' written in Stefan's meticulous handwriting. He read on, discovering detailed instructions on how to reheat the food and make the salad, as well as decorating tips in Elena's elegant slant.

Alaric looked over at Damon, opening his mouth to make a mocking comment, but then he quickly closed it again. As he stared at the note, a warm feeling stole over him, and he smiled to himself as he glanced over at Damon. He might as let him get away with it, he figured. Stefan had cooked Alaric's favorite, after all. Snorting softly, he shoved the piece of paper in his pocket and sat down, leaning back in his chair as he waited for Damon to serve.

Damon returned to the table shortly, dishing out the food without the slightest indication that there was anything at all unusual about this. As if the two of them came down to the Gilberts' lake house every weekend for candlelit dinners on their hunting trips.

"What's the matter?" said Damon, looking up at Alaric. "Chupacabra got your tongue?"

Alaric snorted.

"No," he said. He took a bite of his food and nodded. "This is really good. My, uh, compliments to the chef."

Damon smirked. "Thanks," he said, lifting his wine glass. So he was apparently just fine with taking credit for Stefan's work. At least some things hadn't changed.

Alaric raised his glass as well, watching Damon over the rim as he took a sip. He wasn't sure exactly what kind of game Damon had planned for him over the weekend, but he found he was curious to see how it played out. If Damon felt he had to seduce him to get whatever it was he wanted, so be it. Alaric supposed it was a change from the drunken handjob routine they'd fallen into since the night of his concussion (which in turn was better than the plenty of nothing he'd been getting since Jenna dumped him for John Gilbert). And if it involved Damon letting Alaric feed from him again, Alaric was all for it.

They finished their meals amid stilted small talk, Damon seeming alternately ultra-smooth and completely off his game. As Damon rose to clear the plates, the next jazz CD kicked in and Alaric frowned.

"Since when do you like Dave Brubeck?" Alaric asked, heading over to the stereo and kneeling down to examine the CDs stacked in front of it. The one time Alaric had tried to enthuse Damon for his extensive classic jazz collection, the other man had faked loud snores until Alaric had put on the Stones. And speaking of said collection...

"Oh, my God." He scowled at the CD cover in his hand, dented from when his roommate freshman year had dumped his pre-calc textbook on it--a crime for which the moron had dearly paid. "You stole my CDs!"

"Stole is an unpleasant word," said Damon. "Try borrowed. For your pleasure. Jesus, a little gratitude wouldn't kill you."

"I should be grateful because you _broke into my apartment_ and stole my CDs?" Alaric pointed his finger at Damon. "If anything's missing or damaged, I _will_ stake you this time."

"Yeah, yeah," Damon said. "Like I haven't heard that before. You keep forgetting how that turned out for you the first time."

Alaric jumped to his feet.

"You know what?" he yelled. "I've had enough of you beating around the bush and trying to manipulate me tonight. If you want me to do something for you, just ask. You know I always do your dirty work for you anyways."

With blinding speed, Damon had Alaric thrown against the wall, and he pressed their bodies together.

"You want me to tell you what I _want_ , Rick?"

Alaric struggled against Damon, noting to his horror that he was starting to get hard.

"That's all I ask," he snarled.

"I want _you_ , idiot," Damon hissed, and he twisted his fists in Alaric's shirt.

Alaric's eyes widened and he stared at Damon for a long moment before he understood. He reached up, covering Damon's hands with his own and using them as leverage as he pulled himself towards the other man, mashing his mouth against Damon's. And Damon kissed back _hard_ , fiercely. Alaric could feel the vampire's fangs extending against his lips as Damon's tongue pushed into his mouth, though Damon made no move to bite. Instead, he growled into the kiss, rubbing his whole body against Alaric's wantonly. Alaric's grip on Damon's fingers loosened, and Damon's on Alaric's shirt, their fingers entwining.

"Damon," Alaric murmured, briefly breaking away to breathe. His voice was shaking, surprising even himself with its intensity. He swore, for just a second, that Damon's knees had buckled, though Damon righted himself so quickly it was hard to tell.

"Rick. _Fuck_. Get me naked," Damon said, the words melting against Alaric's lips as they resumed the kiss.

His hands trembling, Alaric disengaged his fingers from Damon's. He started to unbutton Damon's shirt, but his usually deft digits fumbled. With a groan of frustration, he yanked the shirt tails out of Damon's jeans and then broke the kiss to pull the shirt over the other man's head.

"Jesus," he breathed, skating his hands up Damon's sides as he pressed his lips to the base of Damon's throat and then kissed a path up to his jaw. "You're so fuckin' hot."

"I know," Damon said, grinning now as he hooked his fingers in Alaric's shirt. With a sudden, unbelievably fast motion, he tore the shirt apart, raking his nails down Alaric's arms.

Alaric's chest shook with laughter.

"There's a bodice-ripping joke in there somewhere," he said, reaching for Damon's fly.

"Yeah," said Damon. "One that totally makes you the chick." He caught Alaric's hands at his fly and helped him pull it open, then reached for Alaric's, thrusting his hand inside. "Jesus. Yes."

Alaric whimpered as Damon grasped his erection and he pressed it into Damon's hand, struggling as he tried to push down both their jeans at once. In his haste, he started to lose his balance, wrapping his leg around Damon as they fell together. Damon didn't even seem to notice that they were suddenly on the ground, or if he did, he was pretty content to just keep going. He helped Alaric struggle out of their clothes, then pulled back, panting.

"I have to have this," Damon said, his voice husky.

Alaric's eyes widened slightly and he swallowed hard as he gazed up at Damon, his heart pounding so hard he was certain not only Damon, but any chupacabras prowling outside could hear it. He slid his hand up Damon's shoulder and the back of his neck into hair, twisting the soft strands around his fingers.

"Yeah," he rasped. "Me, too."

With that, he tugged Damon into a searing kiss.

Damon rolled on top of Alaric, pinning him to the floor and pushing his hands up above his head. He growled, a low, anticipatory sound, and rubbed his erection against the inside of Alaric's thigh, his mouth skating down Alaric's throat, fangs teasing the sensitive skin where Alaric's pulse beat so wildly. Alaric shivered and shifted under Damon's weight, trying to maximize the feel of Damon's skin against his.

"Please," he murmured, unable to articulate what he wanted, but certain Damon would _know_.

"Yeah," Damon said, his breath unbearably hot over Alaric's ear. "I'm gonna make you _beg_ me to fuck you." And then his fangs were sinking into Alaric's throat.

Alaric gasped at the sensations coursing through him, his fingers digging into Damon's arms. He pressed his lips together, not wanting to give in just yet, but not wanting to resist, either. He had no intention of denying Damon anything tonight. Damon rutted against him as he drank, and pulled off abruptly with a feral sound that made Alaric shudder.

But before he could even respond, Damon was biting down on his own wrist, thrusting it against Alaric's mouth as he reached down to squeeze their cocks together, throwing his head back as if the intensity of it were just as strong for him as it was for Alaric. A trickle of Alaric's blood spilled from the corner of Damon's mouth as he panted through trembling lips. The sight was enough to drive Alaric completely crazy with hunger and lust. He pressed his shoulders onto the floor and thrust up his hips, driving his prick against Damon's. He couldn't take it anymore.

"Oh, God, Damon," he breathed. "Please. I need it now. I need _you_."

"Fuck, yeah." Damon was slicking his cock with blood then, and a few seconds later, even though Alaric wasn't completely ready, pushing inside. Alaric inhaled sharply through his nose, digging his nails into Damon's back, and then he let out the air again, forcing himself to relax.

" _God_ ," he growled, his voice thick with Damon's blood. "Move, damn it."

Damon sniffed in amusement, dragging his wrist away from Alaric's mouth, wiping blood down the side of his face, and then started to thrust, _hard_.

Alaric cried out, squeezing his eyes shut as he threw back his head. The feel of Damon's cock inside him was _perfect_. He rolled his hips to meet Damon's thrusts, and Damon's prick hit his prostate, sending sparks of pleasure through Alaric's whole body. Alaric groaned and squeezed Damon's hips with his thighs.

"You know how fucking _good_ you feel?" Damon hissed over Alaric's ear, nails digging into Alaric's shoulders as he pulled down for leverage.

"Not as good as you do, I bet. Jesus. _Damon_." At that moment, Alaric's orgasm hit him, taking him completely by surprise, and he let out a strangled cry as his cock shot between their bodies.

"Oh, _fuck_!" Damon's voice broke as he cursed, and he fucked Alaric harder, fiercer, his body going inhumanly taut and shaking as he started to come. Alaric's hands slid up Damon's arms and around his shoulders as Damon's spasms slowly stilled, pulling Damon in closer as he pressed soft kisses to the side of Damon's head. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this _content_.

Damon breathed deeply for a moment, then rolled off Alaric, pulling out with a groan and settling on the floor beside him, head propped on one hand. He reached out, trailing his fingers down Alaric's chest lightly.

"You do realize the whole point of this dinner was to end up in an actual _bed_ , right?"

Alaric edged closer to Damon. "There wasn't really a chupacabra, was there?"

Damon looked pleased with himself. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he said.

Alaric snorted and pushed himself to his feet.

"Fine," he said, reaching for Damon. "Let's go check out that bed. And if there are any rose petals on it, I _will_ mock you. Incessantly."

Damon's expression fell for just a second, and then his usual smirk was in place again.

"There are lots of bedrooms in this place, Rick."

Alaric grinned and leaned forward to kiss Damon.

"Then lead the way, Casanova."


End file.
